


What is love? (Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more).

by Cosmic Mayhem (CrazyB00kGirl)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyB00kGirl/pseuds/Cosmic%20Mayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was ever a time when Holster did not love Ransom, he can't remember it. But loving someone and being in love with someone were two different things, and Holster knew how to keep the two separate. Usually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is love? (Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more).

It first started one night in late November of their sophomore year. Finals were just around the corner, and one of the lax bros thought it would be funny to mess with the delicate coral reef that was Holster's best bro.

No one messes with the coral reef.

But instead of planning terrible revenge on the lax team, Holster was sitting on the floor with his best friend in the whole world who was _sobbing_ , and Holster didn't know how to make it better because this had never happened before? He knew Ransom had panic attacks and he knew what could happen if you disrupt the coral reef but never before had the sight of his best friend crying physically _hurt_ him before and suddenly everything he had learned about helping Ransom through his panic attacks flew out the window and his mind was blank except for the crimson ache of seeing Ransom in pain.

"Rans, listen. Look at me, okay? Look at me."

Holster waited patiently for Ransom to turn and look him in the eyes.

"Bro, it's going to be okay. Breathe, okay?"

It must have been pure muscle memory that kept Holster speaking in a low voice, breathing deeply, reassuring Ransom that everything was going to be alright.

It must have been muscle memory because Holster barely recognized the words around the new ones that had appeared in his head like a title on a darkly lit movie screen.

_I love you._

And it was true. There was no question that he loved Ransom like he would a brother, no question that he would do anything for him, no question that no one made him happier.

If there was ever a time Holster did not love Ransom, he couldn't remember it.

Yet somehow these words were unfamiliar and kept pushing against his mind until he finally choked them out.

"It's okay. Deep breaths. I love you. Don't worry. I love you."

It worked. Or, at least, it didn't hurt. Ransom swallowed the last of his sobs, and, after a few minutes, managed a half a smile in Holster's direction.

"Thanks. I love you too, bro."

 

And after that, it just became a _thing_ they did, like any other thing they always did together. Like Best Friend Sundaes. After a particularly exhilarating win, it was "you're so amazing I love you," and after a particularly hard loss it was "it's okay, I love you."

They meant it, too. In the way that best friends mean it, in the way that brothers mean it.

Because loving someone and being in love can be two different things.

Holster knew that.

Yet there was some part of him that always felt like "I love you" wasn't enough. Like he had something more to say but he couldn't find the words or the meaning.

 

By the time senior year rolled around, Holster knew he didn't just love Ransom in the way that best friends or brothers or anyone means it. He meant it in a way that was "I need you" and "I love you" and "I would do anything for you" and so much more.

It was going to be okay. He already had an outlet for this, or so he told himself. It would just have to be that Ransom would never know how much he meant it when he said "I love you." Ransom would think it was still in a best friend way, in a brother way, in any sort of way that wasn't what Holster was really feeling.

And anyways, how would Holster be able to tell him now? The words were already out there. How would he be able to say "I love you" and have Ransom know that he meant it in a million different ways? How would he be able to show Ransom that this time was different, that the words meant something different?

 

It's, coincidentally, March, when Ransom breaks up with March. Holster doesn't know the details, but he knows Things Were Said, and he knows Ransom is distinctly Not Okay. And, once again, Holster finds himself aching crimson when confronted with his best friend crying on the floor.

"Hey, Rans," Holster sat down next to him on the floor, wrapping up Ransom's hands in his much larger ones, "I love you, okay? I love you."

And he knows it's not the right time, but screw timing, Holster wishes with every fiber of his being that Ransom will know how much he means those words.

For the first time, it doesn't work.

Instead of sighing, or swallowing sobs, or raking a hand across his tear stained eyes, instead of looking up into Holster's eyes and repeating the words like a mantra until they are both calmed down, Ransom just stops.

He stops shaking, stops sobbing, but he doesn't look up. He doesn't take a deep breath. In fact, Holster worries for a moment that he isn't breathing at all.

Ransom mumbles something under his breath, but the only word Holster catches is "problem."

_He knows,_ Holster thinks, _He knows and it's a problem and I made things worse._

"Hey, Justin?"

The use of his real name takes Ransom by surprise, and his head finally jerks upright.

"I'm sorry."

The words come out small and quiet and Ransom's eyes wander to his lips for a moment like they're chasing after the words, trying to find them, to examine them, to realize he doesn't mean them, not really.

Because Holster will not be sorry for loving someone even though the part of his brain that ached at knowing he might have caused his best friend to feel like this had to fight against the part of his brain that refused to be sorry for loving someone, for loving Ransom. He wanted desperately to be sorry, to stop loving him because maybe that would fix things. He wanted desperately to love Ransom all the same.

"Don't be, it's my fault, I messed everything up and I tried to shove it aside instead of fixing it and," Ransom inhales, a deep, ragged breath that turns the dull, crimson ache in Holster's chest into a piercing scarlet.

"Rans, how could any of this be your fault?"

"I messed it up, I messed everything up," Ransom returns to looking at his hands, still trapped by Holsters'.

"What did you mess up?" Holster asks, frantic, because he's getting worried, and the wild look on his friend's face is scaring him, and where is the phone does he need to call someone an ambulance or police or-

"I messed it all up. Messed _us_ all up. And now," Ransom steals his hands away from Holster, waves them furiously in the air, gesturing to something, anything.

"I love you, Adam Birkholtz."

The words appear in the air one by one like bubbles, floating away slowly into the air above them, and this _isn't_ normal because Ransom is supposed to relax when he says those words, his face is supposed to fall into a sleepy contentment and everything is supposed to be okay. But instead his face crinkles into an expression that is part hopeful and part sad and part apologetic and Holster doesn't know what to do so he just says the first thing he can think of.

"I love you, Justin Oluransi."

"I love you, Adam Birkholtz."

"I love you, Justin Oluransi."

And they sit in silence for a minute, both sets of eyes curious and hopeful and _desperate_ for any sign of how much the other means those words.

Holster tries to be the first to break the silence. His mouth moves around the shapes of words that won't come to him, small noises stirring in the back of his throat as he tries to find a way to say what he needs to say when _he's already said the goddamn words._

Finally, Ransom speaks.

"Holster?"

"Yeah?"

"I broke up with March."

"I know."

The words that follow are so soft, so quiet, that Holster almost doesn't catch them.

"I broke up with March because I can't stop thinking about _you_."

Ransom's face is practically buried beneath his arms at this point but Holster still hears the tiny catch in his breath when he exhales right after finishing his declaration.

"And I know it messes everything up and I'm sorry and-"

Holster brings a shaking hand up to the side of Ransom's face, tilts it so they can see each other again.

"I need you to listen to me," Holster begins, finally finding the words he's been looking for, the words that first appeared to him that day back in November, the words that have been there all along.

"I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> I use trashy 80's music to cope with my inability to remain chill


End file.
